


Sit Next To Me

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nailed It, Flower Crowns, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Mutual Support, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Scars, Shiro Ship Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-27 23:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: A series of fills for Shiro Ship Week 2018Day 1 - Flowers (Sheith) inspired bythisart by GitwreckedDay 3 - Stars (Shunk)Day 7 - Scars (Shance)





	1. Flowers - Sheith

“So here’s where you got to.”

Keith glanced up at Shiro and gave a bland smile, barely a quirk up of his lips.  Then he looked back down at the tangled mass of stems and leaves in his hands. “You were looking for me?”

Nodding, Shiro sat down next to him.  The field was completely overgrown with grasses and flowers, which slowly gave way to shrubs and trees at the edge of the forest.  The sun only barely crested over the tops of the leaves, casting everything in soft reds and yellows. The light warmed Keith’s hair and eyes, making the highlights of each shine.

Which was one of those things Shiro wasn’t supposed to be noticing, like how long Keith’s fingers were as they tangled around the plants, or the little wrinkle between his brows.

‘Supposed to’ never panned out quite right when it came to Keith.

“I was,” Shiro finally replied, plucking a blade of grass off the ground.  He twisted it around his metal fingers, overlapped to cover the black. “Not out of necessity.  Just curiosity.”

Keith’s eyes flickered over.  He tilted his head to the side, just enough to make his bangs shift.  “Because you were bored or you needed an excuse to slip away for a while?”

Caught immediately.  It was amazing, how Keith saw right through what Shiro thought was subtle, but missed what felt blindingly obvious.

Shiro shrugged.  “Both.” He unwound the grass and tore out another strand to braid together.  “It seemed a question worth answering. And I could use a break from today’s talks.  Nothing’s going to be solved tonight anyway.”

Nose crinkled, Keith nodded.  “I just wanted out of there. I know that’s the way they talk, and they can’t help it, but…”

“I understand.”  The Vethrans were an interesting species, a solid eight foot tall and furred.  They made for fierce warriors, and their ship’s weaponry actually gave the Galra a run for their money.  But they also had very low, growling voices, and habitually spoke loudly. Aggressively. Combined with their tendency to loom, Shiro had found himself tense more often than not.  

It had really only been a matter of time before they found a culture whose version of ‘polite’ read as ‘intimidating’ to humans.  Shiro was trying not to let it color his view of them, but it was hard. None of the Earthlings were dealing with it well, with the exception of Pidge, who seemed to enjoy the opportunity to get in someone’s face and try to argue them down.

Keith, who had a checkered history with foster homes, probably dealt with it worse than most.  Thus, this break.

Shiro couldn’t pretend he didn’t need it too.

“How’s Hunk doing?” Keith asked.  He used his nail to press a slit through one stem, then slid another into the new hole.  It immediately ripped. Grunting darkly, Keith looked around for a replacement blade of grass.

Shiro handed him one of his two for braiding.  “He excused himself about fifteen minutes ago. Lance went after, so he should be alright.”

Nodding, Keith took the stem and replicated what he’d just done.  This time, the stem held firm as he chained the grass together. His eyes brightened with triumph.  “Good. He looked like he was about to vibrate of his seat there for a while. Lean forward for a second.”

Shiro blinked, bemused, then followed the order without question.

Once Shiro’s head was lower, Keith took his chain of grass blades and wrapped it around Shiro’s forehead like a band.  He hummed, then pulled back. “That should be long enough.”

Sitting back up, Shiro eyed him.  “Our heads aren’t really the same size, you know.”

“Good thing it’s not for me, then.”

Oh.  Shiro’s chest warmed, as if to match the heat of the setting sun.  “Nevermind then, carry on. Why are you making me a grass rope for my head?”

Keith paused, then slowly picked his head up.  “It’s not a rope. It’s a flower crown.”

Immediately, shame welled in Shiro at Keith’s quiet tone.  But another glance at the mess of twisted grass bolstered him.  “Well, thank you,” Shiro finally said. “And, forgive me, but don’t normally flower crowns have flowers?”

The color on Keith’s cheeks might have been a trick of the warm light, except that he ducked his head and hid his eyes.  “I was making a base first. I figured it’d be easier to just stick the flowers on after.”

Shiro looked at the would-be-flower-crown, then around at the field.  Slowly, a smile spread over his lips. “You mean that the flowers were just out of reach, so you put it off.”

Finally, a grin cracked over Keith’s face too.  He reached back and punched Shiro in the arm, not even strong enough to rock him.  “Oh, shut up. If you don’t want it then I can keep it. Or give it to someone else.  Think Pidge will want one?”

“She’ll love it until she sneezes it to pieces.”  Shiro rubbed his arm as if Keith’s blow had bruised, still beaming.  “No, I want it. I just wanted to clarify. Maybe there was a special kind of flower crown that got popular while I was in space.”

“Yeah, like I keep up with the current trends.”  Keith snorted as he leaned over. He took hold of a flower and made pointed eye contact with Shiro as he plucked it.  “You’re not wrong, though. Not a lot grows out in the desert, but there were some tough shrubs I could work with. If the cactus were in bloom, I could grab a couple of flowers, too.  Wasn’t much else to do.”

Shiro’s heart clenched.  “Oh. That makes sense.” It killed him to think of Keith, alone again in the desert, chasing strange sensations and odd whims for sheer lack of anything else to do.  

Shrugging, Keith jabbed the flower in. The little white bulbs raised up and drooped like antennae.  “Never got good at it, though. Which you can tell. It was just a way to kill the time.”

“Better than I could do.  I’ve never made one at all.”  Shiro’s eyes traced the warm shine of light around Keith’s dark hair.  “Will you show me how?”

Keith paused, looking from Shiro to with twisted plants in his hands.  “You sure you want to learn from me?”

“Why not?  We’re here to goof off, not to make perfect artistic pieces.”

Slowly, Keith smiled, then ducked his head again.  “Never thought I’d hear Takashi “anything less than 100 percent is failure” Shirogane say something like that.”  He dodged Shiro’s friendly jab without even looking. “Yeah, okay. Grab some flowers or grass or whatever and bring it back.  I’ll show you how I did it.”

Shiro pushed himself to his feet and nodded.  “I’ve had to learn what’s worth my energy and what isn’t, over the past couple of years.  But, alright. Give me a moment.” He made a careful spiral out from Keith, picking the thickest grasses and nicest flowers.  The wildflowers here were very similar to on Earth, in whites, yellows, reds and purples. Until he let them rest in his palm, it wasn’t obvious how small they all were.  That in mind, Shiro took some nice looking leaves as well. Hopefully he could fill around the flowers to make up for that.

By the time he returned, Keith had stopped working to watch.  There was an indulgent softness to his face as Shiro took a seat.

“What?”  Shiro asked.  He looked down at his handful of plants.  “Did I pick the wrong ones?”

“No.”  Keith continued to stare for a moment, then looked down sharply.  “You’re just so serious about it. Precise. You pick flowers like you’re plotting your next move in chess or something.”

Shiro’s considered him, brows up.  “Have we ever played chess?”

“Once.  There was that bored in the officer’s lounge the time I fought that kid and fell out the simulator.”

Old anger brewed like storm clouds in Shiro’s chest.  “They should have expelled that jackass.”

Keith’s lips quirked.  “For starting a fight with me, after I’d started a dozen others?  That wouldn’t have been very fair.”

Who cared about fair?  Keith had been pushed out of the simulator onto the hard concrete.  That wasn’t just a simple scrap. He could have cracked his head open.

“Even so,”  Shiro looked down, and realized he was ripping the end off one of his carefully chosen blades of grass.  Wincing, he dropped the pieces. “Well, we’ll have to play again some time. I’m sure Pidge of Hunk could whip up a board.”  Of course, both of them would want to play, and Shiro would have to suffer the probably inevitable loss. But it would be worth it.

Keith snorted at him, but nodded.  “Alright. That’ll definitely go well.”  He smiled as he scooted over, holding up another blade so Shiro could see what he was doing.  “The ones in the desert you could just kinda twist together, but these are softer. So you have to chain them by making a hole, then sliding the rest of it through.”

Nodding, Shiro did his best to copy the movement he’d seen before.  He held on with his metal fingers, and carefully pressed a small hole into the stem.

He smiled, then released his grip on the top of the flower.

The blossom fell off, cut cleanly by the pressure of his prosthetic fingers.

Shiro blinked, then groaned.  “Well, that’s a new way to ruin it.”

“I’ve broken like a dozen of the blades, it’s fine.  Just grab another.” Keith picked up the flower and dropped it back in Shiro’s lap.  “It’s still long enough to stick into the chain.”

Sighing, Shiro  nodded, then bent down to get to work.

It was, unsurprisingly, a finicky process.  Several more flowers were destroyed in the process.  Shiro would have felt more guilty over the damage, but the overgrown field was absolutely full of these plants.  They were probably this area’s version of weeds. What Shiro should have been worried about was how long they were gone.  They had a responsibility as part of Voltron, and it wasn’t fair to duck out to go make alien flower crowns.

But Shiro couldn’t bring himself to suggest going back.  Not yet. Not when that meant aggressive stances and loud growls.  Not when unknowable memories lurked at the edges of Shiro’s thoughts like sharks in dark water.

Soon.  They’d go back soon.

Just a few minutes longer.

“There,” Shiro finally declared, holding up his crown.  The loop of it was a little wobbly, and a few of the strands were haphazardly knotted rather than chained.  Some of the flowers were part of the main structure, but several more were jabbed in, like Keith had said. More than one of them looked like they’d fall out at a stiff breeze.

But it was done, and Shiro had made it.

Keith looked over his creation, eyes warm and smile soft.  “Nicely done.” Despite how much of a mess the crown was, the compliment sounded sincere.

“Glad you like it.”  With that, Shiro plopped it down on top of Keith’s head.  It sank, just a hint too big, and only Keith’s ears caught it from slipping all the way off.  Two dandelion-like flowers dangled over Keith’s eyes, and the ferm-esque leaf in the back stuck up like a cowlick.

The crown itself looked silly.  

But Keith looked amazing.

Shiro stared, caught by the pop of color in Keith’s dark hair, and by the soft, appreciative look in Keith’s eyes.

Reaching up, Keith gently brushed the space-dandelions out of his face, so they hung to the side instead.  “How’s it look?”

“Perfect.”

This time, there was no mistaking the blush over Keith’s cheeks.  “Good. Yours is ready, too.” Keith held up his own. It had less flowers than Shiro’s, but they seemed more deliberately placed toward the front.  The focal point was still the two white, antennae-like blossoms that jutted nearly straight up. “Bend down again.”

Feeling absurdly like this was a real coronation, Shiro did.

Keith’s crown fit better, by virtue of having actually been measured.  It settled firmly right at the temples. One of the leaves brushed down to tickle Shiro’s ear, and even the slight movements of his breathing seemed to threaten to break it apart.

Even so, Shiro understood Keith’s obvious pleasure, now.  He was proud to wear this, as silly and haphazard as it was.  He was wearing Keith’s crown, and Keith was wearing his.

…Jeez, he was so far gone.  The magnitude of his childish giddiness could  have been visible from space. Like the signals broadcast from Kerberos back home to Earth, every radio station on the way should've been picking up the same message:  _ I love him.  I love him. I love him. _

Keith, as ever, seemed to not be tuned to that particular frequency.  Instead he reached up and gently brushed one of the white flowers. “I thought they’d blend with your bangs a little.  Not stick up like that. Sorry.”

_ I love you. _

“I love it,” Shiro said, smiling back.  “Just the way it is.” He swallowed against the hammering of his throat.  “We should get inside. It’s already dark.”

“Wearing these?”  Keith’s brows rose as he finally dropped his hand.  

Honestly, it was a bad idea.  Everyone was going to know they’d ran off to make flower crowns like a couple of kids, and the teasing was going to be extraordinary.

But the idea of taking off the crown and maybe ruining Keith’s hard work was worse.

“Wearing these,” Shiro agreed.  “If you’re ready to head back.”

There was a flash of hesitation, a dark shape behind Keith’s eyes.  But he nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready. Are you?”

Honestly, no.  There was no being ready for whatever these aliens reminded Shiro of.  But now he had this crown, which felt absurdly like a talisman against the anxiety.  The same way the memory Keith himself had been, during the longest, coldest nights.

“I am.”  Shiro stood, then offered his left hand to help Keith up.

He took it, their fingers tangled, skin on skin.

Together, bolstered, they made their way back to the team.

Neither of them let go for several long seconds.

For the first time, Shiro wondered if it wasn’t just Keith who was on the wrong frequency.


	2. Stars - Shunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is utterly unbeta'd because I barely finished it in time but WHATEVER IT"S DONE.
> 
> This is also a Nailed It AU, so if you haven't seen the show, it's probably incomprehensible. Sorry.

Shiro looked down at the sample cupcake.  It was iced with elegant, detailed stripes of orange and white, and glimmered with a faint, pearly sheen, made to look like the planet Jupiter.  The cake itself was a lovely golden brown, and even after sitting all day, it still smelled delicious.

Then he looked at his own.

The top had only the faintest layer of icing, as the rest had immediately melted of, and was currently clumped on the plate.  Instead, with time running out, Shiro had opted to dump lines of orange food coloring along the top, including a big red splotch near the center.  Underneath, the cupcake was less golden and more crispy, and a corner of it had completely crumpled away.

Looking up, Shiro looked to the judges and plastered on an awkward, hopeful smile.  “Nailed it?”

He had not nailed it.

Lance only barely tried to smother his smile.  “And your cupcake was supposed to be… Jupiter, yeah?”

The repetition was for the cameras, not to hammer the knife further into Shiro’s pride.  But it did just that anyway. “Yes. It has the Great Red Spot, see?” It killed him to play up his failure for the camera, but, well, that was the game.  It was what Shiro had agreed to when he’d signed the contract to appear on this show.

He was really regretting letting the Holts con him into this.

Coran, the show’s usual judge, smoothed over his mustache.  “I see you opted for food coloring instead of the icing from the directions.  Had some trouble with that, did you?” His eyes darted down the row back to Keith, who looked hastily away.  

Both of them had the same problems with getting the icing on the cupcake.  Shiro had never had much of a taste for the stuff in the first place, so he’d never had to deal with it much.  He was pretty sure it was supposed to stay on, though, and not immediately drip off to the sides. While Keith had persisted, stacking on layers and layers of icing until it was nearly some sort of glaze, Shiro had given up with a minute left on the clock, and figured some color and no icing was better than a bare cupcake.

That might not have been the right call.

“A bit,” Shiro replied carefully.  “There’s some on there.” 

“More on the plate,” Lance offered.  “Does that count?”

Probably not.

“Well, you at least got some of the detailing right,” offered the guest judge, Hunk.  His smile was surprisingly kind, given that he was the one who had designed the cupcake that Shiro had just butchered.  “You got good variation on the stripe sizes, and the Great Red Spot is a good size and shape.”

Shiro gave a bland smile back.  “Well, I figured it should be pretty big.  The storm is large enough that it takes six days for one rotation, so it’s noticeable.”

Pausing, Hunk’s brows lifted up.  He looked Shiro up and down, clearly interested that he’d just rattled off that trivia off the top of his head.  “That’s true. Well thought out.”

For the first time since filming began, Shiro relaxed.  This was a realm he didn’t mind being judged on, rather than his admittedly abysmal baking.  It seemed like Hunk had a genuine interest in space as well, aside from his baking Youtube show.

But before Shiro could feel more than a moment of relief, the show barreled on.  “So, you had some trouble with your decoration,” Coran said, voice practically a chirp.  “But let’s see how you did with your actual cupcake, shall we?”

Shiro winced, deflating all at once.  “Right, that part.”

“Does seem kinda overdone,” Lance offered.  He used a fork to split the cupcake, then made a face when it broke apart like old firewood.  “Oh, boy.”

“I wanted to make sure it wasn’t raw.”  Shiro fought to keep his expression neutral, all too aware of the cameras pointed in his direction.

Lance took a bite of the cupcake.  He kept a straight face for about a second, then winced.  “Oh. Oh, man.”

“That’s not a promising reaction,” Coran said.  He took the fork next, while Lance tried to get control of his face.  “Ah, yes. This would be… well, overdone is not the word I’d use.” He took a bite and winced as well.  “The cake is very dense as well. It may have been allowed to sit for too long before going into the oven.”

Shiro nodded, hands clenched at his side.  It was a good piece of advice, and not one he would have thought about while baking.  So he was going to pretend he got something out of this experience. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.  Thank you.”

Next, Hunk tried.  His eyes widened, but he managed to swallow down the cupcake without much wincing.  “You definitely left the cupcakes in for too long, and I think you may have overfilled your tins a little as well.  But the taste at the bottom isn’t bad. It’s hard not to second guess yourself in the kitchen, but next time try to have faith in the recipe and in your own skills.”

…What skills?

That was, perhaps, the most hopeful thing anyone had ever told Shiro about his cooking.  He raised his brows, stunned. Neither of the other contestants had gotten that kind of encouragement.

…Was Shiro’s cupcake that bad?

Next to him, Keith’s brows rose as he looked between them both, and just beyond him, Allura’s lips pulled down.

“I mean, sure,” Lance drawled, one brow up as well.  “Anything’s possible. Judges, are we ready to decide who nailed it?”

Coran nodded agreeably.  “I believe we are, yes.”

Hunk gave one more glance at Shiro, then nodded as well.  “I think so.”

There was a brief pause, as the cameras reset.  Shiro didn’t even bother getting up his hopes, not when he’d clearly crashed and burned.  Allura has been the only one to actually get her icing on (by virtue of actually opening the blast chiller and realizing what it was for), and her cupcake had been competently baked.  It was no contest to compare that to Keith and Shiro’s icing disasters.

Instead, Shiro rested his hip on the counter, arms crossed as the tech crew rotated around them, and the judges took their marks.  “When we were going over the rules, I thought it was silly that they told us not to eat the food until the end. Now I don’t mind.”

Keith let out a snort, his lips quirked up.  “Yeah, I’m not touching mine. There’s not really any cake under the icing.  I’d eat Allura’s, though.”

Smiling, Allura shrugged a shoulder.  “I’d rather eat the sample cupcakes. They’ve been out all day and they still look delicious.  Besides, apparently I don’t have baking skills that I need to trust more.” She arched a brow at Shiro.

“No, you already trusted yours,” Shiro said. He glanced back once at the cameras, making sure they weren’t about to start, then rolled his eyes.  “I think he said it because they were afraid I’d sink into the floor and die. Which isn’t too far off.”

“Yeah, right,” Keith said.  He used his apron to wipe off some of the icing still on his hands.  It didn’t help with the deep red staining left over from his Mars cupcake.  “He got into me for like five minutes about how my stirring was too aggressive, and mine was barely better than yours.”

Shiro politely didn’t point out that Keith’s enthusiastic stirring was responsible for a splatter of cupcake batter along his neck and jaw.  On his other side, Allura hid a smile behind her hands.

Instead, Shiro shrugged.  “Well, mine was basically inedible.  Congrats on your future shiny chef’s hat, Allura.”

“Yes, well…”  Allura didn’t try to deny it.  “But I agree with Keith. And I believe Lance does as well.  Did you see his face when Hunk said that? That wasn’t typical.”

“I’m atypically bad at baking.”

Keith groaned and elbowed him.  “Stop being oblivious. Hunk was nice to you because he thinks you’re cute and you spat out space trivia on the fly.”

…What?

Shiro stared at Keith.  “You- what? Why do you think…?” He glanced over at Allura and froze at her knowing look.  “Both of you?”

“He was kind of staring,” Allura crossed her arms playfully.  “Is it so odd to think?”

Looking between them both, Shiro’s stomach sank.  “Even if it’s true, I’m sure it won’t affect judging.”

Keith burst out laughing.  “No, it won’t. Allura won.”

Okay, so they weren’t worried that Shiro was getting an unfair advantage.  Good. Allura and Keith were both nice people, and he could see keeping up with both of them after this dumb show ended.  

Shiro glanced out the corner of his eyes at the judges group, checking on where they were and if filming was about to shoot.

Only to see Hunk watching him back.

Caught, Hunk colored then looked away, speaking to Coran instead.  His fingers twitched at his side, and there was a tint of pink just barely visible on his ears.

Which was pretty cute.

“Maybe not so odd.”  Shiro managed not to flush, but he couldn’t ignore the rush of warmth in his chest. Once he’d been used to that kind of attention, but since he’d lost his arm and gotten the scar on his face, not so much.  He hadn’t managed to bring himself back to dating yet, but the rush of affection and potential reminded him of why he used to put himself out there.

It could be fun to try again.  Especially with the very cute, very smart baker with an interest in space.

Allura smiled back, more than a little smug.  

The commotion of countdowns and the camera people getting into final position interrupted Shiro’s thoughts.

“Looks like it’s show time again,” Keith murmured, as they all straightened up and got back into position.

Glancing over, Hunk snickered.  “Nice one.” His eyes sparked with impish pleasure when Keith groaned at his own, accidental pun.

Shiro stared, caught for a moment, then looked down at his hands to compose himself.  Even so, he couldn’t suppress his smile.

Yeah, not so odd at all.

***

The next cake was ridiculous.

With no less than four tiers of cake, just physically getting all the batter to cook was going to be a rush.  But the real problem was the shape and design. The bottom two layers were covered in a shining, glazed icing with swirling lines and dots that looked like an actual galaxy, and Shiro didn’t even know where to begin to make frosting so smooth and shiny, much less with so many colors.  The top part seemed to be a couple of cakes, but they were carved out and shaped to look like half of the moon, complete with tiny astronaut figurines and a mini Apollo 11.

To his left, Allura hummed to herself as she worked, already covered in flour up to her elbows.  Flecks of it decorated the shining gold hat she wore, a sarcastic trophy to her first round victory.  Her chocolate cakes were well into being mixed. 

On Shiro’s right, Keith narrowed his eyes at his tablet, mouth working as he read over the recipe.  He clutched an egg dangerously tight in one hand, while the other tapped over the special knife set he’d brought with him.  Despite his intense focus, he didn’t seem that worried either.

Just Shiro, then.

His eyes cast around desperately for some source of inspiration, some sign of what he was supposed to do.  Shiro stared at the cake again, trying to comprehend the steps needed to turn the cake recipe they were given into… that.

Over at the judge’s table, Hunk glanced over again, and his eyes caught Shiro’s.

The stress and worry must have been obvious, because Hunk’s face immediately softened.  He offered Shiro a small smile and a thumbs up, and mouthed ‘you’ve got this.’

That was an abject lie.  Shiro did not have this.

But it was nice anyway. Another wash of warmth came over Shiro.  He offered a smile back and nodded.

Just as he ducked his head down to focus on the recipe, he saw Lance nudge Hunk with his elbow.  They spoke together, then Coran added something with a smile. Hunk’s skin darkened with the force of a blush, which made Coran and Lance both grin.

Shiro felt his own blush increase.  Even the knowledge that the camera crews were honing on the little interplay didn’t ruin the feeling.

Okay.  Cakes. Right.

Shiro carefully read over the instructions, gathering his ingredients and adding them together.  The stand mixer was amazing, allow Shiro to let the machine run while he worked on making sure his cake wouldn’t stick to the pan this time.  Butter and spray was probably overkill, but Shiro had ruined half a dozen cupcakes last time, and he only had one shot at all of these cakes.

Overfilling was a problem too, apparently.  But Shiro wasn’t sure how much was overfilling and how much was underfilling.  That was a lot of cake, so it seemed like there needed to be a lot of batter. Except if he put in too much, it was going to take way too long to cook, and Shiro had learned the dangers of that last time.

Compromising, he filled the pans up a little more than halfway-

Then realized he’d never preheated the oven.

Shit.

This was why Shiro was so bad in the kitchen.  There were so many tiny details. He could keep track of every panel and dial on a plane, but not on an oven.  What was wrong with him?

Eventually, the oven was heated, and Shiro got his cakes in to bake - last of everyone, but hopefully he’d have enough time anyway.  While they baked, he got started on his decorations, beginning with the two kinds of icing - one a normal kind that got whipped up, and the other a strange, heated sort that required  _ gelatin _ of all things.  By the time the cakes were done and cooling in the blast chiller, he had those at least started, and he’d made little astronauts out of the blocks of chocolate he’d found in the pantry.

Glancing over, Shiro caught sight of Keith’s version of Apollo 11, which looked shockingly serviceable.  He looked away, heart in his throat. He hadn’t even started on that.

Scrambling for his cakes, Shiro pulled them out and set them down on the table.  He knew at least to put the icing between players so they stuck together, and soon he had all four on top of each other.  Then-

Well, he was right back at where he’d started, where he had no idea what to do.

…Except Shiro had a way of learning.  Because he still had the help button.

Shiro pressed it down, then jumped when it let out a loud buzzer noise.  “Holy s-” He only barely managed to cut himself off, all too aware of the cameras.

“We’ve got a help call!”  Lance announced cheerfully.  “Alright, Coran, you’re up.”

But as Coran started to push out of his seat, Hunk pushed himself up.  “I’ve got it. I really want to stand up anyway. You take a seat.”

Coran’s brows jumped up to his hairline.  “This is my job, you know. I can handle i-”  

He cut off when Lance nudged him on the side.  “Nah, make the guest judge to it. That sound fair to me.”  He waggled his fingers after Hunk. “Have fun, you two. Keep it PG.  This is a family show.”

Shiro’s entire face burned as Hunk came closer, a smile on his face. 

“Ignore Lance,” Hunk advised.  “He thinks he’s funny.”

“I’m very funny!  It’s my job.” Lance tapped on his unadorned wrist.  “Two minutes, forty-five seconds!”

Hunk glanced back, eyes wide, then straightened.  “Okay, what’s wrong? What do you need help with?”

“Everything?” Shiro managed, voice strangled.  “I don’t know how you do all of that. There weren’t any round cake molds, and my icing is just kind of lumping on there instead of getting all smooth, and when I try to put it on there’s a lot of it but the cake keeps showing through.  Your cake looks amazing and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Expression soft, Hunk put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder and guided him back to his station.  “It’s okay! Really, you’re doing good so far. First of all, we’re going to take the cake apart a little bit.  Just a bit, okay? Or maybe we should go back and put in supports, for…” He trailed off, seeing Shiro’s increasingly frazzled stare.  “Never mind, just the top two. We’re going to do them separately, then put them back together. So take those off. Good! First, do you have that mirror glaze ready?”

It took Shiro several seconds to remember what he was talking about.  “The stuff on the stove? Uh, it’s still there.”

“Good.  That’s the smooth stuff, okay?  It looks shiny, and you mix in the colors halfway to get all the swirls, then flick the white icing over.  But don’t get it yet, I’m just explaining. First we’ve got to crumb coat.” Hunk gestured to the two half-cakes.  “You don’t paint in one coat, and you don’t put icing on in one coat on a big cake like this. You do a primer layer by putting on a little icing all over, so the crumbs stay in place.  Then you do another that covers everything up once it’s all set.”

Oh.  Put like that, it sounded reasonable, but Shiro had never heard of double icing anything.  Taking his cake, he started to smooth down the sides, spreading the icing. Now that he wasn’t worried about putting on so much to cover everything, it went easier.  “Oh. That’s better.”

“See?  Skills.  I told you that you’ve got this.”  Hunk nodded to the top section. “For the round moon, you’re going to have to carve it out.  It’s okay, it sounds scary, but really you’re just cutting off the sides until they curve a little.  Then you can use the cups to make smaller circles for the craters, and just carve out a little. Remember the crumb coat and then top coat, and you’re good.  There’s a shiny powder in the pantry that will make it look dusty.” Hunk squeezed Shiro’s shoulder again and offered a blindingly gorgeous smile. “You’re a smart guy, I bet you can handle this.”

Shiro blushed again, totally unable to help it.  His head was reeling as he tried to remember all those details, but Hunk’s hand on his shoulder was warm and centering.  “Not like you. Everything you’ve made looks amazing. I think you made that Apollo 11 model to scale. And those are accurate costumes, if simplified.”

This time, it was Hunk’s turn to blush.  He let go to tangle his fingers together in front of him.  “Well, I like space, and I like baking. Seemed obvious to me.”

Turning to face Hunk properly, Shiro leaned against the counter.  “I think it’s great that you get to do these things you clearly love.  There’s a lot of care in everything you’ve shown.”

“Thank y-”

“Thaaat’s time!”  Lance called. He waved from across the room, leaning back so his chair was on two legs.  “Come on back, Romeo, you two can pine from windows after we get some cake.”

Shiro let out his breath slowly, as reality suddenly reasserted itself.  Every single camera in the room was trained on them, as was nearly every eye.

Clearing his throat, Hunk gave Shiro another quick pat on the back.  “Good luck! You can do this, you know what you have to do now. Just be sure to-”

“Ah!” Lance made a loud buzzer noise.  “No more helping. Get!”

Hunk offered a last sheepish smile, then trudged back to the table and sat down heavily.  He immediately curled in on himself and covered his face, looking like he was trying to ignore whatever Lance was saying.

Bolstered and feeling warm again, Shiro got to work, now with a new perspective.

He had this.  Hunk believed in him, and he was going to win.

***

Shiro did not have this, not really.  

This time, he at least had cake that could be swallowed, which was an improvement.  His mirror glaze had sat too long and cooled, and so it was a gloopy, dark-gray mess on his bottom layers.  The top was really more of an oval than a circle, and the one, single crater made it look like the Death Star.  His astronauts were more like space slendermen, and he’d spent a solid half an hour on Apollo 11, only to break it into little pieces trying to put it up.

But as the judges got to him, Shiro locked eyes with Hunk and gave a bright smile.  “Nailed it.”

Lance’s brows rose as he looked over the cake.  “That’s no moon,” he intoned dramatically.

“Are you totally certain our moon isn’t actually a Death Star?” Shiro shot back, still smiling.

Laughing, Lance nodded.  “You know what? Fair. Let’s see how this base tastes then, huh?”  He cut it open and took a big slice, then set it down for all the judges to pick from.

“Certainly a huge improvement,” Coran pronounced.  “Just a touch underbaked. Could have used just a few more minutes.  And the icing is a bit…” He scraped some off. “Enthusiastic. But the cake itself tastes perfectly fine.  Well done.”

Holding up a finger, Lance swallowed, then went in for a second bite.  “Yeah. Definitely pretty good. The top layer is a little better than the bottom few, I think.  Less cake to cook. But a pretty good job, man.”

Heart in his throat, Shiro looked to Hunk.

Who beamed right back.  “I told you.”

It was still a very generous assessment, but Shiro still could have lit the room with his smile.

Lance nudged the one bit of the Apollo 11 that had managed to stay up, which then promptly broke apart.  “Whoops. So, some problems. But alright.” He stepped back carefully before he could do more damage. “Alright, we’re going to have a little talk, and then we’ll announce the winners.”

The cameras pulled away, lights turning off as they prepared to reset.  Shiro took a deep breath, then relaxed even further.

He’d baked something that, while not pretty, at least tasted good.  Shiro wasn’t going to win - Keith’s had been just as well baked with actual, decent decorations.  But he’d made a cake people wanted to eat, and he might even be able to do it again at home. That alone made this whole silly show worth it.

When he picked his head back up, Hunk was standing there.

“Uh.”  Hunk cleared his throat, then glanced back over his shoulder.  Behind him, Lance gave a shining smile and two thumbs up. “I, uh…  I just wanted to… well, here.” He took Shiro’s prosthetic hand and pressed a piece of paper into it.  “You don’t have to, you know, anything right now. With the show and all. But maybe after.”

Shiro blinked at Hunk, surprised at the switch from confident baker to this nervous, shy version.  He looked down in his palm, and saw a piece of paper.

With a phone number.  

Oh.

Heart pounding, Shiro looked over Hunk’s face.  Then he reached up and used a knuckle to gently wipe away of bit of Shiro’s goopy, overenthusiastic icing.  “Yeah. Definitely. I live in the area, so maybe this weekend?”

Hunk’s eyes shone as he nodded.  “Yeah. Definitely. I-” He glanced back at the cameras.  “After. But good job!”

As Hunk stepped away, glancing over his shoulder with a beaming smile, Shiro leaned back on his heels.

“I think I love baking,” he murmured.


	3. Shance - Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the chapter that earned the PG-13 rating

Lance shifted from foot to foot, staring at the door in front of him.

It remained metal and silent, giving him no clues how he was supposed to go about this.

Maybe Lance should leave well enough alone.  It was possible Shiro would really hate even the suggestion.  Not that he’d do anything about it but look unhappy and awkward, but Lance would feel like an asshole.  Even worse than when he got scolded for acting un-paladin-like, back when they’d first started the whole Voltron thing.

But looking down at the handfuls of containers tucked under his arm, Lance couldn’t walk away, either.  This had the chance to make a difference in Shiro’s life. Maybe in a little way, but it would mean a lot to Lance, in Shiro’s shoes.  Already did, in fact.

So he took a deep breath and knocked.

There was a pause, then a muffled voice came through the metal.  “One moment.”

Lance nodded before he remembered Shiro couldn’t see it.  “Gotcha. Take your time, no big deal. I can wait.” He paused, wondering if that sounded passive aggressive.  “Like, really, I’m good. Honest. No need to rush.”

…Yeah, that was worse.

Shiro opened the door, wearing the paladin pajama bottoms, but his usual dark shirt on top.  From the way his hair was ruffled, he must have pulled his shirt on just then. Luckily, he only looked amused at Lance’s last night call and babble.  “Evening, Lance. Did you need something?”

“Not me, but you might.”  Lance blinked, then sighed.  “I sound like a used car salesman.  Can I come in for a second? Just to run something by you.”

Brows together, Shiro looked him over, then nodded.  “Sure. Of course.” Shiro stepped to the side and gestured for Lance to come in.

It was just as barren as ever.  Not that Lance had room to complain.  He’d stolen the video game console, because if they let it live in Pidge’s room they’d never see it again.  Other than that, he only had a few nicknacks. Hunk was better, with his handful of souvenirs and the occasional Balmera crystal sent along by Shay.  Keith’s room had once been spartan, but now he had a few items from the Blade that decorated his wall or desk. 

Shiro had none of that.  It looked even less decorated than a Garrison dorm.

Ignoring that, Lance pulled out the desk chair and sat down, because it was less awkward than sitting on Shiro’s bed.  Then he dumped the containers over the counter and held one up. “Okay, um, feel free to tell me to get lost if this is out of line.  But I figured you’d like to know.”

Shiro sat down on the bed, his arms crossed.  The more Lance dawdled, the more nervous he seemed to become.  “Alright. I doubt it’ll come to that. What’s this about, Lance?”

Sighing, Lance waggled the container.  “Um, so, you know how after that thing with Rover exploding, my back got kind of messed up?  Since then I’ve been… well, there’s marks, you know? Not that I’m super ashamed or vain or whatever.  It’s fine. But if I have the choice of them being there and them not… well. Yeah. I don’t want them.  So I asked Coran, and Alteans actually have a few kinds of creams for reducing that. Apparently it’s a big deal for the ones that can shift, because the scar tissue doesn’t change easily.  But what I tried didn’t work, at first. Kinda burned, actually. So I needed to experiment with it.”

Shiro went very still.  “I’m guessing you found something that worked.”

“Yeah, it’d be a pretty lame story if I came here to tell you I hadn’t gotten anywhere.”  Lance flashed a grin, trying for comforting. It probably didn’t work. “It takes a while.  You have to apply a couple different creams over a few weeks. But it definitely helps fade them.  So when I was sure, I figured… well, you have the scar over your nose you might want to soften, maybe.  And you might have more elsewhere. If you don’t want it then obviously just tell me so, but like I said before that having a choice about it feels nice so I didn’t want to just not tell you and-”

“Lance.”

Shutting his mouth hard, Lance swallowed.  He looked over Shiro’s face, trying to see if he looked angry at the presumption or not.

He didn’t.

Actually, Shiro looked awed.

“I have some,” he admitted, voice so quiet it was a rasp.  The admission seemed to cost him. “More than over my nose.  But if there’s something I can do about them, that would be… that would mean a lot to me.  Can you show me how?”

Lance winced. Shiro wasn’t going to like this part. “I can.  I will. But, uh… Well, while I was doing it, I found out that the layers of this stuff have to be pretty precise and even or else they don’t do their job as well.  It slows it down, or else it just doesn’t work as well and it doesn’t fade as much. So, I’ll definitely show you, but if there’s some on your back like mine is, it’s really better to have someone help.”

Slowly, some of the hopeful light drained from Shiro’s eyes.  “Oh.”

Stomach twisting, Lance clutched the jars to his chest.  “You can if you really want to, but I just wish I’d known, you know?  My scar might not ever fade as much as it would have now. I’m gunna keep trying, but you should at least know what you’re getting into.  And if you need help, I can. I swear I won’t tell anyone about it. I can keep a secret really well, even from Hunk.”

Shiro took a deep breath, then slowly let it out.  “I appreciate the offer.” The words sounded like Shiro had forced them out through his teeth.  “I’d like to think about it, first. Can you show me how it works for now? I can apply it myself on the nose scar.”

Despite himself, Lance sagged.  He understood completely why Shiro would want to hide his scars.  It wasn’t like Lance went around showing people the ugly starburst on his back, either.  He’d rather it not exist at all. Yeah, it made for a good story, but that didn’t stop it from being an eyesore that Lance would rather go away.  Shiro didn’t even have the benefit of bragging rights, or at least not ones he wanted to claim.

Even so, it would have been nice to help.  Shiro had been Lance’s hero for so long. It’d be cool to be able to give something back, and to be trusted in return.  This could be a chance to prove that he was more than a goofball and a flirt. To change how Shiro saw him, from a cadet to keep after to an equal.  Maybe a friend.

Wishful thinking, maybe.

For now, Lance flashed him a smile.  “Yeah, of course. Do you have a mirror in here?”

“No,” Shiro replied.  Then his face tightened, as he realized how that sounded in the context of the situation.  “I just use the ones in the bathroom, usually. It doesn’t take me long to look presentable.”

More than presentable, really.  But that wasn’t an appropriate comment, nor one that would win him any favors today.  

Lance nodded.  “Yeah, they don’t exactly come with them.  One sec, I’ll leave these here with you and get the one from my room.  We can use it for now, and tomorrow we’ll get you one of your own.” With that he handed over all the jars, then bounded out.

When he got back, handheld mirror in tow, Shiro was investigating each of the jars and giving them a gentle sniff.  “Smells floral,” he commented, as Lance closed the door behind him.

“Yeah, that one goes on last.  It’s nice. Close enough to lavender that it makes me kind of sleepy.”

Shiro’s brows rose higher as he considered the jar.  Then he set it down and rested his hands in his lap, eyes purely focused on Lance.  “Okay, so how does this work?”

It was surreal, to be the teacher instead of the student.  Shiro had a direct intensity to his gaze that was oddly similar to Keith.  Suddenly, Lance had a lot of sympathy for the instructors at the Galaxy Garrison.  They’d had to live with this for years.

“Alright.”  Lance picked up the first, a creamy, pale substance.  “This one’s basically a lotion. You put it on first so it has time to really soak in.  It softens the skin up a bit, which should make the scaring feel less tight.”

Shiro took the jar and slid his fingers inside, feeling it between the pads of his fingers.  “Huh. Okay.” He smeared the white goop over his nose. “Should I work it in?”

Nodding, Lance mimed doing the same to his own face, moving his fingers in circles.  “Gentle but through. Skin on the face is pretty sensitive, especially that close to your eyes.  I don’t think you want to get some of this stuff in a cut.”

“Understood.”  Shiro copied Lance’s motions carefully, working the lotion into his skin. White lotion dripped over the bridge of his nose. “It’s funny that it took going to space to get a facial.”

Lance froze utterly, staring at Shiro.

Shiro didn’t look back, focusing instead on the mirror.  He didn’t even seem to notice Lance’s reaction, much less the multiple meanings of what he’d said.

Clearly, he meant a facial as in the beauty treatment.  He was talking to Lance, of course he meant it that way.  It was just that the white goop was just similar enough to other substances that Lance couldn’t help thinking about it.  He had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from laughing.

If he made a sex joke now, Lance was definitely getting thrown out on his ass, scar reducer or no.  So he’d just suffer in silence.

“Nothing wrong with a little beauty treatment,” Lance finally answered.  Lucky for him, Shiro didn’t seem to notice how tight his voice was. “Okay, looks like it’s all rubbed in.  Now let’s do the next part.”

The whole thing didn’t take long, maybe fifteen minutes total with all the instructions.  The complexity came from the order of the four creams, and the amounts needed. Each coat needed to be even over all the skin, and a certain proportion to the last.   It wasn’t that hard to remember, but it wasn’t easy in practice.

“I feel tingles,” Shiro murmured, his fingers covering just over the bridge of his nose.  “Is that normal? Placebo?”

“Totally normal.  That means it’s activated.”  Lance put the lids back on all the jars and set them on Shiro’s desk.  “That’ll keep up for about an hour, but don’t take it off for at least five, or else it’s wasted.”

“So last thing I do at night,” Shiro agreed.  “And hope the Galra don’t attack, or we don’t get a distress signal.”

Lance smiled darkly.  “Exactly. But after the first hour or so it’s more absorbed, so if you have to put your flight suit over it, it shouldn’t immediately wipe off.  You’ll need to wash the goopy stains out of the suit, though.”

…Shit, that was almost as bad sounding as the facial comment.

Lucky for him, Shiro didn’t seem to notice it either.  He just nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. Thank you for this, Lance.  Sincerely. I’ll let you know what I decide for the rest, but this is pretty amazing.  It’s helped with your back?”

“It’s not gone, but it’s definitely faded.  And I have more of my range of movement back from the lotion.”  Lance windmilled his arms around, as if to demonstrate. It wasn’t until he started that he realized how dumb he probably looked, flapping around like a wounded bird.

Shiro only looked interested, though.  “Amazing. But I think I’ve kept you for long enough.  You should head to your own room and get some sleep before tomorrow.  I don’t want you sleep deprived on my behalf.”

“Worth it.”  Lance shrugged, then flashed Shiro a sincere grin.  “But yeah, I do need to get ready. Night, Shiro. Sleep well.  Hopefully the lavender helps.”

For a moment, Shiro tensed up, clearly uncomfortable at the less-than-secret knowledge of his insomnia.  But he flashed a smile back. “You too.”

Lance picked his mirror up and waved, then slipped out.  On the other side of the door, he took a huge breath.

That had gone well.  Shiro hadn’t been mad, and he’d even been impressed.  Hopefully it helped, and he’d promised to at least think about letting Lance help.

Now if Lance’s heart rate would calm down, he could go back to ignoring his stupid crush and actually get some sleep.

If he lost sleep over that unintentional ‘facial’ line, then Lance was ejecting himself out of the ship.

***

“Can I speak with you, Lance?”

Without looking up from her laptop, Pidge snickered. “Oooh,” she intoned, utterly flat.  “Lance is in trouble.”

Shiro shot her a flat look.  “No one’s in trouble. I just need to speak with Lance alone.”

That didn’t stop Pidge’s grin in the least.  She nudged Lance with her toes, still without looking up.  

Grabbing a pillow, Lance smacked her in the legs, which deterred her not at all.  “What do they say about assumptions, again?”

“That Pidge is always right and you should get used to it.”

Lance gave her another swack with the pillow, which only made her grin widen.  Then he dropped it over her laptop keyboard and stepped around to smile at Shiro.  “Yeah, sure. Your room?”

With a last disapproving look at the back of Pidge’s head, Shiro nodded.  “That would be good. Thanks.” He stepped aside so Lance could go through the door, then followed.  “You really aren’t in trouble. To be clear.”

Yeah, because Lance hadn’t figured that out from Shiro’s tone.  He wasn’t Pidge-and-Hunk levels of genius, but he could read a room when forced to.  “I know. I figure this is about what we talked about last week.”

Fascinatingly, Shiro’s ears turned pink, like he was fighting off a blush.  “It is.” He tapped in the code for his room, then stepped inside. As soon as Lance was in, he closed the door.  “I gave what you said some thought. And I have a… compromise, I suppose. Not one that you need to accept for my sake, but just a thought.  If you’re interested.”

Well, how the tables turned.  His was a new side of Shiro, nervous and babbling like Lance had when he first offered the creams.  “Shoot, then. Or, don’t, ‘cause that’s my job, but I’m listening.”

The silly joke earned him a least a tiny smile.  “I’d rather not compete in shooting against you. My pride would never recover.”  Shiro flashed him a fond look, then continued on, oblivious to how the compliment made Lance’s heart rate double.  “You said before that your scar isn’t as faded as it could, if you’d had someone else to help apply it. So maybe this could be a case of ‘I’ll lotion your back if you lotion mine’.  I could help you out like you’re helping me.” 

Oh.  Lance hadn’t even thought of that.

Which was silly.  Of course they should help each other out.  No one else would have to know, and they’d both get the same benefit.

Except Lance hadn’t considered the part where Shiro would be rubbing his big, warm hands all over Lance’s bare back.

Could he do that without immediately making them both extremely uncomfortable and ruining everything?

Shiro swallowed hard at Lance’s stunned silence.  “Like I said, you don’t need to feel obligated. It would just be nice to offer you something in return.  And I would feel a little less vulnerable if it wasn’t just me. If you’d prefer not to, I obviously understand completely.”

Ah, jeez.  Put like that, Lance felt like a jackass.  Shiro was just being nice, and letting Lance see him exposed couldn’t be something he was comfortable with.  If Lance was asking it of him, he should be able to offer it back. It was only fair.

So Lance smiled, bright and sincere as he could.  It wasn’t that hard - this was sweet of Shiro to offer, after all, and he’d love to have his back scar faded even more.  “Yeah, that’d be great. Sorry, I was just surprised. I didn’t even think about it. How’s it working from your face scar, so far?”

Shiro reached up, his fingers delicately skating the thick line.  “It doesn’t seem to have changed visibly yet. But it’s softer. I don’t think it’ll ever fully fade because it’s deep.  Through the bone. But it pulls less now, which is nice.”

Through the bone?  

Ignoring the sudden, pressing theories as to how Shiro could have gotten such a wound, Lance nodded.  “The visual effect doesn’t kick in for a couple of weeks. Even if it doesn’t get less thick, it should at least start to match the color of the rest of your skin.  The edges should soften too.”

Shiro nodded, still touching.  “It did that for your back?”

“Yeah.  I can show you if you want to get started to the lotions now.”  Lance shrugged out of his jacket, brows up.

Eyes wide, Shiro nodded.  “I- it is after dinner, at least.  I wasn’t going to go to bed for a while, but now is as good a time as any.”

With that, he unzipped his vest.  He yanked it down in one go, as if to hide any hesitation.

Lance’s mouth went dry.

Shiro slipped off his vest, then took careful pains to fold it carefully and lay it flat over his desk.  Then he took hold of the bottom of his shirt and glanced sideways at Lance, as if hesitating.

Looking away sharply, because staring was definitely going to be taken the wrong way, Lance draped his jacket over the back of Shiro’s desk chair.  He yanked off his shirt with exaggerated lack of shame, all too aware of the ugly mark that was now visible.

After staring at it so long in a mirror, Lance knew exactly how it looked to Shiro.  Before it had been worse, like his back was made out of clay and someone mushed a circular patch into it.  It used to be a pinker color than the rest, but now it was only slightly off from the rest of his skin. It might never been as tan as the rest, but at least didn’t feel like someone could see the spot from space.

Lance turned around, trying for casual.  It wasn’t like Shiro was going to judge him.

He ended up staring after all.

Somehow, he’d expected all the scars to look like the one on Shiro’s nose - discolored, but almost neat.  In hindsight, it was probably made by some kind of blade or an edge.

There were a couple others like that.  Slices in Shiro’s arm and sides that might have been from swords or daggers.

Lots of them weren’t.

On one shoulder there was a series of puncture marks that could have only come from teeth, but were terrifyingly huge.  Each individual tooth could have been a dagger or spear on their own. Jagged, uneven lines crossed from one side of his stomach to the other, like some creature had tried to rip out Shiro’s guts.  There were patches of discolored skin that looked like either a burn or acid, splattered like a spray of liquid. Puncture wounds of all kinds, scratches of all shapes, skittering and branching lines of scars like a lightning bolt from the arm-

Shiro was a patchwork of suffering.

“I don’t remember most of it,” Shiro admitted to Lance’s silence.  He held his head high, eyes clear, but the tension was obvious. “A few I do.  But it’s probably best I don’t try to reach all of this.”

No kidding.

“I’m gunna have to make more lotion,” Lance muttered.  Then he winced. “Sorry, that was- I was just thinking for the nose scar when I made you some.  Doing it everywhere isn’t going to last more than a week.”

Shiro nodded slowly.  Luckily, he didn’t seem insulted by the logistical conversation.  If anything, he seemed to relax, like talking out the minutiae made him calmer.  “Understandable. You couldn’t have known. Will that be a problem?”

Flapping a hand, Lance smiled as best he could.  “Nah, I can make it in big batches. I’ll just probably give you a bucket next time instead of those little jars.”  He considered Shiro’s supplies, then straightened his shoulders. “Want to do mine first?”

The offer immediately relaxed Shiro further.  “That would be fine,” he said, and didn’t bother to hide the relief in his voice.  “Would you like to sit on the bed?”

Lance would like to lay in the bed, if he was honest.  Stretch out a little and get comfy. Put his head on Shiro’s pillow for a bit.  But all of that was a level of creepy and needy that he was never, ever admitting to.  

Instead he sat down and rested his elbows on his thighs.  “Ready when you are.”

The first touch of oily fingers made Lance jolt despite his words.  No one but Coran and himself had ever touched the scars, and Shiro’s hands were obviously different from both of them.

“Sorry,” Shiro murmured. “Cold?  I could warm it up.”

Lance shook his head.  “No, just getting used to it.  Carry on.”

A moment passed.  Lance could still feel the heat of Shiro’s fingers, covering just over his skin.  But they didn’t come back down, until Lance’s heart sank. This had been a long shot anyway, and Shiro was going to pull back and-

The fingers touched down again, gently massaging into Lance’s back.  Shiro started tentative, but began working with more force as he gained confidence.

Lance held his breath to keep from making any kind of noise.  His heart pounded so hard it felt like it had to be audible, and the heat brewing in Lance’s stomach seemed to spark and swirl.

“I didn’t know the scaring was this much,” Shiro said.  He put the cap back on the first jar and started on the second.  “Or that you were having mobility problems from it.”

Eyes wide, Lance swallowed back a sudden bolt of fear.  “It hasn’t affected me in the field, I promise. It doesn’t stop me or anything, I can just feel a tug somethings and it’s annoying.”

Shiro gave a soft chuckle.  It sounded sad rather than amused.  “I’m not saying it’s stopping you. Not me, of all people.”  Right, yeah. That would be Shiro shooting himself in the foot.  “I’m just sorry I didn’t know. You’re under no obligation to tell me, I’m just… I wish you didn’t have to have this reminder of pain.”

Heart clenching, Lance stared at his lap.  The guilty thrill of the touch faded, replaced by heavy empathy.  “You couldn’t have known because I didn’t tell anyone but Coran. And if I have to remember something, how I pushed someone down and saved them from an explosion is a pretty cool one.  Make the ladies swoon, you know.”

“Of course,” Shiro replied, bone dry.  But there was a hint of disappointment to his tone.

Was he mad at Lance’s consistent flirting, or upset that his scars probably didn’t have a heroic origin?

“Is it weird that I like your scars?” Lance blurted.  He winced as Shiro’s fingers retreated again, then relaxed when he opened the third jar.

Shiro snorted.  “Yes, actually. It’s very weird.”

Well, jeez.  Worse, from Shiro’s tone, it was obvious he thought it was just pity.  “Well, guess I’m weird,” Lance said, head held high. “’Cause those scars are stuff that could of killed you, like mine.  And you lived instead. They’re proof of how much you’ve come back from, and so I’m sorry for the pain you went through. You shouldn’t have to be reminded of that.  But to me - to us, I mean - it’s a sign that no matter what, you’ll come back home with us. I like that.”

“Oh.”  Shiro stopped, both his hands spread flat over Lance’s spine.  “I guess I can see it that way.”

Lance nodded.  “Good.”

The silence hung in the air around them.  Lance twitched, eager to fill it, but he didn’t know what Shiro was thinking.  His hand stayed solid and flat against Lance’s back, and his breathing was even.   Probably not in the middle of a flashback, then, but still silent.

Finally, Shiro pulled his hands away and started on the last jar.  “Thank you, Lance.” His voice was suddenly different. Softer, rougher, maybe not quite as deep.

Intimate.  But more than that, relaxed.

For at least this moment, Shiro had put his guard down around Lance.

The flood of affection and sympathy crashed over Lance like an incoming tide.  He knew next to nothing about Shiro-the-person, but this was step one.

All too soon, Shiro pulled back.  The soft scent of not-Lavender already filled the room, making Lance’s head feel even lighter.

Lance turned to face Shiro.  He still looked calm, but there was a slump to his shoulders that Lance wasn’t used to seeing.  It was relaxed, unprofessional.

Even if nothing else worked out about this arrangement, Lance was going to horde this moment in his heart forever.

“You still want to do you?” Lance asked, casual and soft as he could.

There was only a moment’s hesitation before Shiro nodded.  “Yes, please.” With that, Shiro turned and exposed is scarred back to Lance’s eyes.

Lance swallowed against the lump in his throat at the vulnerable display of trust.

Then he got to work.

Within minutes, Lance basically forgot about his attraction to Shiro.  This wasn’t about that. Yes, the skin under his hands was still gloriously warm, and the muscle below devastatingly powerful.  Yes, he could just faintly smell Shiro’s shampoo, and his hair still looked like it’d be so much fun to touch. It was still Shiro.  But it wasn’t about having an excuse to rub all over Shiro. It was about helping him, the way Lance would want to be helped in his shoes.

Practiced as he was, Lance made quick work of covering Shiro’s back in all four jars.  By the time he snapped back into the reality of the situation, Shiro was practically slumped forward, his breathing longer and even.  Not quite asleep, but threatening it.

Lance smiled while Shiro couldn’t see it.  “You already do your front and nose today, yet?”

“Mmm?”  Shiro twisted his head around to blink at Lance.  “Not yet. It’s probably bad to miss a day, right?”

Smiling, Lance patted him on the shoulder.  “It’s good to have a schedule, but missing one or two won’t hurt you.  You can go ahead and lay down if you want.”

Shiro’s brow furrowed, like he was about to argue.  But then he let out a long sigh like an old dog settling down for a nap.  “Maybe. If I get up a few hours before everyone else, I can do it then.”

A knot formed in Lance’s throat.  Shiro talked about how little sleep he got so casually.

Well, there was nothing Lance could do about that except what he’d already done - rub him into relaxation, and hope the lavender helped a little.

“Rest up, big guy.”  Lance patted him on the middle of the back.  “You earned it.”

Shiro let out a chuckle.  “Thank you, Lance. This is more than I could have ever asked of you.”

“Yeah, dude, I know.  You never ask. That’s why I offer.”  Unable to help it, Lance gave Shiro’s hair a tousle.  Combined with the sleepy look in his eyes, he looked positively soft.

Lance could imagine waking up next to that look and oookay, nope, bad territory, abort.  Appreciating their hot leader was one thing. Letting this turn into something dangerous was just stupid.

Probably too late for that, but Lance could at least try.

“Well, thank you anyway.”  Shiro finally slumped forward, crashing down onto his pillow.  His eyes cracked open to watch Shiro, gaze warm. “Have a good evening.”

“Night, Shiro.”  Lance shot him one more smile, then turned off the lights as he left.

Rather than head back to the rec room, Lance walked straight to his own bedroom.  He flopped down on his bed, took his pillow, then shoved it hard into his own face to muffle the scream.

This was going to kill him.  But what a way to go.

***

Their meetings became a ritual.

After the first time, it was like Lance had passed some sort of test.  During missions and training, Shiro was still pure professionalism. But the times between changed, surprisingly quickly.  

Shiro would sit down next to Lance at meals, even when there were other spots available.  He would clap Lance on the shoulder as he passed, or even give him a teasing hip check if he needed more space.  He smiled brighter, he laughed more, he allowed glimpses of his sense of humor.

Which was how Lance found out he’d been played.

“For all your flirting, you’re really innocent,” Shiro commented, rubbing the first lotion onto his nose.  He glanced at Lance in the mirror, his lips quirked up.

Lance’s mouth fell open in outrage that was only slightly exaggerated.  “I am not! I know about- you know.”

“You know,” Shiro drawled back.  “You aren’t even saying it. Sex.”

“I’m not saying ‘you know’ because I’m embarrassed!  Don’t go around accusing me of being innocent, Shirogane.”  Lance jabbed him between the shoulder blades. 

Despite the teasing, he smiled.  It really was amazing, how far they’d come in just a few weeks.  Already, Shiro’s scars were looking softer, blending in better to the surrounding skin.  The only one that hadn’t visibly changed was the nose scar, but Shiro said he was having less headaches lately.  More importantly, they were both sitting here, Shiro shirtless, Lance in his robe, wearing face masks and teasing about sex.  A month ago, Lance wouldn’t have imagined he could mention the word directly around Shiro without getting the stink eye.

Yet here they were.

Shiro turned around and crossed his arm, openly smirking.  “Alright, if you’re not embarrassed, then why not say ‘sex’?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

The brows rose challengingly.

Lance scowled right back.  “I don’t talk about it because you’re the innocent one.  All my jokes just fly over your head, or you say stuff and don’t even know how it could be taken.  So I gave it up, because it’s not fun to talk about when the other person doesn’t get it.”

“What don’t I-”  Shiro paused. Then, slowly, a wicked grin pulled over his lips.  “Oh. Yes. You’re right. The joke of putting white stuff over my face and talking about facials.  Yup, didn’t notice at all. Or all the times you snickered when I said the word ‘thrust’ or told someone to ‘hold the shaft.’”

Lance froze.  Then he slowly sank down, his face burning with the force of his sudden blush.  “You never said anything! You snapped when I said stuff at Allura or other aliens.”

Glancing back over his shoulder, Shiro snorted at him.  “Yes, because that was aimed at someone inappropriate or during a situation we needed to be serious.  It was aimed at someone who didn’t seem comfortable. But I’m career military, Lance. I’ve heard a lot.  And I survived living in a small ship with Matt Holt for months, and he’s worse.”

Put like that, Lance felt pretty dumb for thinking he’d pulled the wool over Shiro’s eyes.  But what else was he supposed to think, when Shiro only ever gave him a look of bland neutrality.

Lance groaned and covered his still lotion-covered hands over his face.  “You jackass. You did the facial one on purpose? I nearly died not teasing you.”

“I know.  It was really funny.”  Shiro started to snicker, then louder at Lance’s groan.  “You were trying so hard not to blush! I kind of wanted to keep talking above having cream on my face the whole rest of the time.  But you were doing me a favor, so I went easy on you.”

“You-”  Lance shot forward and shoved is lotiony fingers in Shiro’s ears.  “You’re a little shit!”

Shiro shrieked and jolted.  At first, Lance started to backpedal, afraid he’d startled Shiro into a bad memory.  But before he could get away, Shiro’s arm shot out and caught Lance by the wrist.

With little more than a grunt, Shiro bodily pulled Lance over his shoulder, and onto his back on the ground.   Lance jolted and blinked up, as he readjusted to suddenly seeing the ceiling instead of Shiro’s back.

Then something wet and thick dribbled onto his face.

Lance yelled out and smacked Shiro’s lotion-dripping hand away.  “You’re going to mess up my face mask!” Despite his protests, he grinned up at Shiro, and got a smile in return.

“You were so interested in my facials, I thought I should give you one.”  Shiro’s eyes were bright and impish. It erased some of the constant stress lines from his face, making him look younger.  His actual age - just a few years older than Lance.

Considering him, Lance tilted his head.  Then he fluttered his lashes, as best he could, and stuck out his lips.  “Oh, Shiro,” he breathed, as dramatically flirtatious as he could. “Yes, I want you to give me a facial.”

This time, Shiro froze.

Then, slowly, pink bloomed over his cheeks, crawling up to settle over his ears.  

It was the only time that Lance had ever seen Shiro well and truly blush.  And it had been over this.

So Lance fluttered his lashes again and licked his lips, just to tease some more.

Except that he got his face mask in his mouth.  Which tasted like vinegar and stale nunvil.

“Ugh!”  Lance rolled onto his side and spat onto the sleeve of his robe, then licked it.  “Oh, man, that tastes so bad. Why does everything good for the skin taste so awful in space?”

There was silence, and then Shiro burst into laughter.  He collapsed forward, resting his forehead on Lance’s shoulder and shaking with the force of his chuckles.  “Lance, you-” He cut off, shaking his head and let out a laugh so hard it turned into a snort.

That set off Lance, and soon the both of them were a cackling pile of the floor, pressed against each other as they tried to control themselves.

Maybe the situation should have been weird and awkward. After all, until recently, Lance was pretty sure Shiro would be mortally offended if he ever made a sex joke in front of him.  Now he was making Shiro blush with them.

It wasn’t, though.  All Lance could do was look at Shiro’s face, scrunched with laughter, and be glad.

“When was the last time you laughed this hard?”

The chuckles died down as Shiro picked his head up.  He considered Lance, then looked away thoughtfully. “A long time,” he admitted.  “Not since before my year.” He paused, then looked over. “Not to say that I’m not happy.  I’ve laughed. Just not like that.”

“I know you’re happy.”  It was obvious, in the way Shiro threw himself into his position and job, and thrived despite the stress and pressure.  He loved being a paladin. He really and truly wanted to go out there and make a difference.

It made Lance want to be better too.  Not just have the attention of the paladin, the glory of victory, but to contribute to making the world be better.  To stand up taller and put in his full effort, to accept not being the center of attention and start being part of the group.

Reaching out, Lance cupped Shiro’s cheek.  “You should. Laugh more. You look more relaxed.  Better.” 

Shiro swallowed hard.  He put a hand over Lance’s, his warm and gentle.  “You make me feel like I can.”

Then he turned his head and brushed his lips against Lance’s palm.

Silence filled the room.  Lance’s heart beat so fast and powerfully that his pulse filled his head.

Shiro jolted and pulled his head away, the blush forming again.  “I’m sorry. That was- it was impulsive. I didn’t mean to… Really, ignore it, that was nothing.”

Yeah, no.  That wasn’t going to fly.

Lance reached out and held Shiro on either side of his head.  Then he pulled him down into a kiss.

There was a long pause, before Shiro melted into Lance’s hands and returned the brush.  His lips were dry but soft as the shifted over Lance’s. Heat rushed through Lance’s veins like a completed circuit, jumping from their lips to Lance’s hands to his heart and stomach, then back.

When they pulled apart, only a second later, Shiro stared at him in awe.  “You…”

“You need chapstick.”

Shiro blinked.  Then, slowly, a grin cracked over his face.  “Of course I do. Can I borrow some?”

Smiling back, Lance leaned up.  “Yes, right here.” Then he kissed him again.

Shiro laughed into Lance’s mouth, quiet but unguarded.

It was the best kiss Lance had ever had.

But the ones after were all strong contenders too.

 


End file.
